


Aftermath

by theimaginesyouneveraskedfor



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-11 00:49:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10451286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor/pseuds/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor
Summary: Disclaimer: mentions of blood, death, war, etc.Based on: Imagine Bard falling in love with you as he watches you care for people after the Battle of Five Armies.





	1. Chapter 1

Bard

He had seen her before many times and even spoken to her when she had tended to Bain’s broken wrist after a nasty fall. He tried to recall her name but he was sure he was getting it wrong and he reproached himself for being so clueless. It was not as if he had not noticed how surprisingly caring she was or the way her frown lines would turn into laugh lines when she found something amusing. He had just never thought to speak to her outside of asking for some mystic concoction or remedy. Truly, he had never found the courage to do so.

She knelt over an elderly woman with deep cuts in her shoulder, stemming the dark blood with her already stained hands. Bard watched as she brought up a cloth to the woman’s wound and applied pressure, the muscles in her jaw clenched with the stress which had hardened her features since the battle had begun. Yet she had shown no other sign of distress, even as the orcs had slain so many and destroyed so much. She had merely grabbed an errant ax and ran towards the chaos, pausing only to tend to the hurt and dying.

“Da!” Tilda’s voice roused Bard from his trance and he turned to find his three children racing towards them, a wash of relief flowing over him, “Da, we’re alright.”

“I see that,” Bard allowed himself a thin smile, “But I told you three to stay hidden.”

“We tried, Da,” Bain offered weakly, “But we had to go or they would have found us.”

“Hmmm,"Bard pursed his lips and put his hand on his son’s shoulder, "I am only glad you are safe.”

“Oh, you’re bleeding, Da,” Sigrid finally spoke as she traced her finger alongside the deep cut on her father’s forearm, his jacket sleeve hanging open in tatters.

“I’m fine,” He insisted as he dropped his hand, “And you? Are any of you hurt?”

“No, Da,” Bain answered as he raised the ragged sword in his hand, “We’re fine. I fought the orcs off with this.”

“Good,” Bard replied grimly, not wanting to imagine his son facing the deadly orcs, “You did well, Bain.”

“And Tilda,” Bain continued as he hugged his sister’s shoulder, “She threw a rock right at one of them. She saved me, Da.”

“Mmm,” Bard frowned again, grateful only that his children had survived, “You, too, Tilda. All three of you are too brave for your own good.”

“Da,” Sigrid interjected with worry in her voice as she once more touched his torn sleeve, “You need to get that tended to.”

“I will,” He assured her stubbornly, “But it can wait. There are many worse off than me.”

“Come on, Da,” Sigrid’s voice was thin with impatience, “[Y/N] is right over there. She will know what to do. Remember when she cured Tilda’s cough.”

“She is busy enough as it is, Sigrid,” Bard turned and looked once more to the healer who had moved on to her next patient, “I said I can wait.”

“Fine,” Sigrid set her face with the same determination which often sharpened her father’s, “I’m going to help her though. She cannot do it all on her own.”

“But, Sigrid,” Bard stopped his daughter gently, “You can’t–”

“Yes, I can, Da,” She insisted as she pulled away, “I have seen enough blood. I can handle it.”

“Be careful,” Bard relented as he sighed, “Alright?”

“I know, Da,” Sigrid gave a small smile, “You, too.”

Bard watched his daughter as she wove between the wounded and dying, making her way towards the lone healer who seemed the only one active among the rows of bloodied. [Y/N] rose and knelt over each patient, giving a smile even to the most dire of cases as she stirred around in her pack of gear. He wondered if she would have enough for them all; as it was, she was using rags for bandages.

Sigrid reached her and was met with a smile which quickly faded to another frown as [Y/N] turned back to the man with the gash above his brow. She bent as she waved Sigrid down beside her and handed her a rag, her hands moving animatedly as she instructed the girl. Bard watched anxiously as his daughter helped clean the seeping wound and the healer wiped clean the needle she had not retired since she had begun her work. She threaded it with a strand of her own hair, finding no thread within her dwindling pack.

She set her hands firmly upon the man’s head and braced him with unheard words before she wove the needle through his flesh. The man’s face contorted with agony and yet the touch of the healer seemed to calm him as she continued her difficult work. She never quit talking as she focused on her stitches, keeping the man distracted as he seemed to forget the pain in favour of whatever she was saying to him.

Bard looked down at his bloody forearm and hoped she could make him forget his own pain so easily. As he examined the deep cut which ran from the inside of elbow and halfway to his wrist, it suddenly began to throb. The adrenaline of battle was finally draining from his veins and he felt utterly exhausted as he stared at the dried crimson upon his torn jacket sleeve. Sigrid was right, as she often was, he would need to have his wound tended before long.

* * *

Reader

“Alright, Sigrid,” You wiped your hands once more on another rag, though the stains would not be gone for days, “That is all of them.”

You looked around at the hordes of injured, many shambling into the abandon stone houses of Dale. You had tended to any and all you could and the bargeman’s daughter had been a great help. The sky was nearly black and the only light were the torches her father had helpfully lit as he had perused the area. Those who were more fortunate enough to go unscathed ushered away those who had been attended and you knew your work was far from over.

“Thank you, [Y/N],” The old lady who had nearly lost her arm to an orc’s scythe said as she passed, supported by a much younger woman, “You are a saint.”

“No, Naci,” You frowned at the overstatement, “I am only doing what needs to be done. Now you go and get some rest. You need time to heal.”

You watched as the crooked old woman was led away by her granddaughter and you grimaced at the lines of bodies still littered through the street. Those who you could not help and you had been too late to see to. You closed your eyes, though all you could see was blood, and sighed sullenly into the dark. You could not leave the dead in the streets like that; they would need to be buried and soon. Not only out of respect but for the good of all; you would no doubt be dealing with enough infection as it were.

“[Y/N],” Sigrid’s soft voice awoke you from your despairing thoughts, “Is everything alright?”

“Fine, I am only tired,” You assured the sweet girl, “You needn’t worry for me, girl.”

“Well…” She looked to her worn shoes guiltily, “I…”

“What is it?” You asked as you rubbed your neck, withholding a yawn.

“It’s my Da,” She confessed, avoiding your eyes, “I know you’ve been working all day, but–”

“His arm is wounded,” You finished her sentence for her, “Aye, I have seen the gash, though he seems intent on hiding it from me.”

“Would you help him?” She finally looked at you, her blue eyes sparkling with worry.

“Of course, I will,” You offered as you turned her alongside you, “It would be unfair of me to leave him so.”

“Thank you,” Sigrid smiled as she fell into step with you; despite her age, she had a few inches on you, “He can be rather stubborn.”

“It is fine,” You offered lightly, “Besides, you’ve done as much work as myself. And I must say, you’ve done quite well. You could be a healer yourself, if you desired to do so.”

“Truly?” She asked with wonder as she looked to you eagerly.

“Yes,” You answered as you neared her father who was standing over his two other children, dozing atop a crate, “It takes time and a lot of work, but you have a natural skill.”

“Could you teach me?” She stopped you with a nervous grin, “Please?”

“If you’d like,” You contended, “Though, you may have to ask your father first.”

“Ask me what?” Bard stepped up beside you and you had not heard him do so.

“[Y/N] says she can teach me to be a healer like her,” Sigrid announced proudly, “Can I, Da?”

“Hmm, a healer?” Bard quirked his mouth as he thought, “I suppose. If you want to.”

“Thank you, Da!” She hugged her father, nearly toppling him and he smiled thinly as he wrapped his uninjured arm around her.

“So,” You began, wondering if you should not have offered to make his daughter a medic, “Should we begin?”

“Now?” Sigrid turned back to you as she released her father.

“Why not?” You returned, trying not to sound uncertain under her father’s gaze, “We’ve still one patient to see.”

“We do?” She furrowed her thin brows in confusion.

“Yes, I believe he is standing right beside you,” You tried to smile but it felt more like a cringe.

“Oh yes,” She looked to Bard eagerly, “Da, she’s going to fix your arm.”

“My arm?” He raised his brow before he seemed to recall that his forearm was torn open, “Oh, yes, I suppose that is wise.”

“Right, then,” You reached to your pack, though you did not have much left in it, “It should not take long.”

“Um, [Y/N]?” Bard sounded nearly afraid to say your name, “Would it be able to wait? Until I can get these two abed?” He motioned to his snoring children behind him, “If you do not mind. Perhaps it would be easier inside…with better light.”

“It would,” You agreed, though you would rather just get it over with, “And I would not mind at all. They need their sleep and all the better they do so inside.”

“Thank you,” He smiled again and turned to his sleeping children.

As he picked up Bain, you stepped up and lifted Tilda’s small body from beside him and turned to follow her father. Bard stared at you as he balanced Bain between him and Sigrid and you wondered if perhaps you had erred.

“Thank you,” Bard said once more, “I hope she isn’t too heavy.”

“Light as feather,” You assured him as you hugged her tightly and began to step down the street, “So, where were you thinking?”

“Anywhere,” Bard answered as he walked beside you, Bain still snoring between him and Sigrid, “There must be at least one empty house left.”

+

“Let me see that arm then,” You tried not to order Bard as he turned from the glow of the only lantern, “And bring the light closer.”

He crossed to you silently, setting the lantern atop the table you sat at beside Sigrid who seemed the only one not exhausted. The dusty interior of the stone house felt eerie and the light cast shadows which seemed to crouch over the three of you. You ran your hand over your forehead as you tried to brush away your tiredness and dug around with your other for a stitching needle.

“So, Sigrid,” You began as you pulled the thin metal from your bag, “First, with any procedure, major or not, you want your tools to be clean. Well, as clean as possible given the circumstances. Alcohol or boiled water would do best but withstanding, you should at least wipe them first.”

You frowned at your own lack of resources, digging around in your bag once more as you retrieved the tin cup you hid in their. You pulled out your canteen, though it made a rather pathetic slosh as you did so and you knew it would fill only half the small cup, if that. You poured the tepid liquid into the cup and wrapped a cloth around the tiny handle, holding it over the lantern with a yawn.

“This will have to do for now,” You explained as Sigrid watched intently, “It is more fortunate than most. I have dealt with little and less.”

“Oh,” Sigrid said with wonder in her voice, her eyes focused on your every move, “Right.”

“Now,” You lowered the steaming cup to the table and dropped the needle into the water, “If only I had some ale or wine, it would have many uses after such an ordeal.”

“Certainly,” Bard agreed with a grim humour, looking embarrassed as you met his eyes with an amused quirk of your brow, “I mean…”

“Now, Sigrid,” You saved him from the stutters he was becoming lost in, “I haven’t any thread left in my pack. I used it all rather quickly so…” You pulled a hair from your head, sure you would be bald before long, “Hair does the trick just as well. You know, horse hair is often best for the job; strong and wiry, but I haven’t any horses right now.”

“Any hair?” She asked with curious eyes.

“If it is long enough to seal the wound,” You answered, threading the needle carefully, “Now, I need you to remove your jacket, Bard.” You looked to the silent man who seemed as fixated on your work as his daughter, “And Sigrid, when this water has cooled a little, you can take a rag from my pack and clean your father’s arm. You’ve already done that, so I trust it will not provide too much difficulty.”

“Alright,” She looked in your pack and took out one of the ragged cloths you had scrounged for your work, “I think I can do it.”

“It is a deep cut,” You commented as Bard shed his coat and held out his bloodied arm, “But nothing too dire. I think you should keep your arm this day.”

“Oh, well, thank the gods,” Bard replied dryly and the creases on his face grew close to a smile, “I will need it.”

“Surely,” You agreed as you watched Sigrid wipe his arm and he flinched at her touch, though you could tell it was light.

“Now, with respect to your father and every patient,” You began as you leaned towards Sigrid, looking closer at her work, “You want to make sure that those you tend are comfortable, but their is pain to be expected with any treatment. You have to be firm but gentle and make sure that you are thorough.”

“It’s alright, Sigrid,” Bard assured as he clenched his jaw, “You’re not hurting me.”

“Okay?” She looked from you to her father before continuing her cleaning, “Is this fine?”

“That’s it,” You encouraged her brightly, “I know it can be hard but just remember, it will help them in the long run. Better a bit of pain now than an infection later.”

“Um, alright,” She said uncertainly, gripping the rag tighter.

“That should be good,” You offered kindly, “Now, this is the real tough part. Do not worry, though. I will take care of it. You may want to hold your breath or bite something, Bard.”

“I can handle it,” He assured as you leaned over his arm, “I’ve been through worse.”

“Alright,” You commented doubtfully as you positioned the needle along his wound and pushed the first stitch through, a visible wince jolting his body, “I will try to be quick.”

You wove the stitching through his flesh, trying not to be to rough on the jagged skin and you were rather impressed at his resilience as he repressed all other flinching. His stillness made your work easier and you were glad for both him and yourself, knowing that the task could have been made much more difficult. Sigrid, despite her initial wariness, was focused on your sewing and you gave her one last instruction in how to tie off the stitches, wiping away the last of the blood which had begun to seep anew during your mending.

“And that is it,” You wiped your bloodied hands once more on a rag, “You should wash your hands, Sigrid. I will do so properly later but cleanliness is the best virtue for any healer.”

“Alright,” She smiled nervously as she looked at her scarlet-smudged hands.

“I’ll go see if I can find a well,” You offered as you stood, “I think I saw one by the corner. Their must be a pail around somewhere.”

“I’ll go with you,” Bard rose almost abruptly, “It is dark.”

“I’ve been out in the dark before,” You assured him, nearly chuckling at his unusual eagerness, “I should be able to find my way.”

“I insist,” His features returned to their stony determination, “It is the least I can do.”

“Well, if you like,” You relented, knowing it was not worth the argument, “I am merely fetching water.”

“Sigrid, you keep an eye on your brother and sister,” He turned to his eldest as he pulled on his ragged jacket, “If they do awake, tell them I will be right back.”

“I know, Da,” She replied resentfully, “I’ll be alright.”

“Come on then,” You tapped your foot, “We’ve got a mission.”

“Hmm,” The amusement softened his features once more and you turned to lead him through the crooked door, “Let’s find this well.”

You found an upturned pail along the cobbled road and Bard swung it at his side as you looked anxiously ahead for the stone well you swore you had seen when the sun was still out. The streets were a deadly quiet and the night air eerily chill in the pale light of the half-moon. You nearly exclaimed in delight as you came to the cross-street where the crumbling well stood in the center.

“I was right,” You announced with relief as you crossed to it, looking into the black depths, “Let us hope there is water down there.”

“Well, there is only one way to find out,” He said as he pulled the dangling rope from the bar, tying it to the pale.

He dropped the bucket into the centre, letting it dangle from the crank and he began to turn the handle slowly. You could hear the swing of the pail as it got lower and the descent seemed endless as you waited in silence.

“I figure I can move the bodies to the old cemetery,” You thought aloud, “Perhaps, find those who are able to help dig the graves.”

“What?” Bard looked to you as your voice seemed to shatter the night, “Oh, yes, I suppose we will have to attend to that. Though, you have done more than enough. I can deal with that, I am sure there are many who can help.”

“So, is it true then?” You ventured as you shifted on your feet, “You’re going to be the new king?”

“New king?” He stopped winding the crank, “No, no…The people are merely afraid.”

“They are,” You agreed as you crossed your arms against the brisk air, “But they do need a leader.”

“Not me,” He returned dully, turning the handle once more, “They will find someone else.”

“There is no one else,” You replied carefully, “You saw how lost they were back there. You were the only one who kept us from utter chaos.”

“And you,” He frowned and you heard the bucket hit water, “Ah, there is water.”

“I am merely a healer,” You explained, lowering your brow, “I did what I am expected to do. You slew the dragon and led the charge.”

“As I recall, you did not shy away from battle yourself,” He reversed the motion of the crank, this time with more effort, “I’ve not seen many healers who can fight.”

“Yes, well…” You looked away with embarrassment, “I did what I had to.”

“As did I,” He insisted grimly.

“Perhaps, it is not what you want,” You looked back to him, wondering why you were getting so involved in his business; you really had no right, “It is your decision, but I think you would be a good king. Truly, you are the only one for the job…Any other would be as bad as The Master and if that should be the case, I don’t know that I should stay for long. Laketown is gone and this place is foreign, I would be as well off on the road again. You, too, for that matter. I cannot fathom that you long to live in such a regime once more.”

“Hmm,” He grumbled as he looked to the bucket rising from the well, “We’ll see what happens.”

“We will,” You mumbled quietly as you helped him lift the pail from the rope, “But first, we need to clean this place up.”

* * *

Bard

Bard rose at dawn the next day, though he had barely slept for the queer feeling which had arose in his chest. Despite his efforts to close his eyes and fall into a much needed slumber, he could not wipe the thoughts of the healer from his mind. Her face came to him without so much as a thought and her voice was ever-present in his ears.

She had left hours before after applying an odd-smelling salve to his arm, though it had numbed the pain of her stitching. He had thanked her kindly and watched as Sigrid embraced her before the woman had torn herself away from the eager girl. Bard had thought to ask her to stay so that she need not wonder the streets alone and search so late for an abode of her own, but a new sense of fear had held him back. He had not been afraid when Smaug had swept over Laketown with his fiery rain or when the orcs had fallen unto his desperate people and yet dread arose within him whenever he thought to speak to the healer. 

He thought back to before the battle, to the times when he had seen [Y/N] in town, walking along the docks as he pushed his barge through the shallows. He wondered if he had felt them same tingle then and why he had not noticed it. All he could recall was that his eyes had made a habit of watching her as he came in from his work without the rest of him knowing. In fact, he could not be sure he had not timed his return with her daily trip along the docks. _Had he so unthinkingly stalked the healer for years and not once thought to realize it?_

Bard crept along the dusty floorboards of the abandoned house and peeked into the room where his three children slept. They were huddled atop the aged straw mattress held up by the chipped wooden frame, there quiet snores whispering into the air. He could not bring himself to wake them and he trusted that Sigrid could handle her siblings as she had always done. He would not go far anyhow.

He pulled his jacket over his shoulders as he creaked open the crooked door and descended into the early morning fog. His torn sleeve flapped as he walked along the cobbles and he grumbled darkly as he mourned for his aged jacket; it was still rather sturdy and yet he knew mending the sleeve would do little to keep it from letting in the damp air. As much as he would prefer to keep the old garment for another decade, the blood stains encouraged him to consider a change in wardrobe.

He rounded the corner and nearly walked directly into the small figure half-hidden by the thick fog. [Y/N] let out a surprised gasp and he heard something drop to the ground with a dull thump as she stepped back.

“[Y/N],” Bard’s voice felt heavy, “Sorry, I didn’t see you there. What are you–”

He looked down to the corpse which she had dropped to the cobbles and he nearly blanched at the sight of its bloated figure. She bent down once more as she hooked her arms under it and lifted it to the surprise of the bargeman. She was not very big but she seemed to have a strength which rivaled his own.

“How long have you been at this?” He asked with concern as she made to drag the body past him.

“A few hours, maybe,” She answered as she pulled the body along the stony road, “Though I’ve not done much.”

“I told you not to worry about it,” He reached out to take the corpse from her but she side-stepped him, “You’ve done enough. Besides, we will have more than enough workers once the city awakes.”

“I know,” She replied stubbornly as she continued her effort, “But I wanted to get it started. We have to work as quickly as we can. If we leave them in the streets, it could make things worse. Disease, flies, rats…even infection.”

“I suppose you are right,” He agreed as he lifted one of the corpses which littered the streets, “But after this one, you take a break.”

“I am fine,” She insisted as she turned the corner.

“For now,” He strained under the weight of the large man, “But it will catch up to you soon enough. Ten minutes, is all I ask.”

“Ten minutes,” She agreed reluctantly as he heard the effort in her voice and traced the lines of her face with his eyes, “And then we need to start looking for spades.”

* * *

Reader

“The elves are here,” Alfrid’s slimy voice sounded from behind you as you dug your spade into the dirt, “Your majesty.”

“Alfrid,” Bard turned with a bristle, “And what hole have you slunk out of?”

“Hole? No, your majesty,” He pleaded, “I was merely lost.”

“Save it, Alfrid,” He stabbed his shovel into the ground and let it stand on its own, “Everyone knows you were so cowardly as to dress as an old woman. And quit with the ‘your majesties’. I am not king.”

“Sure you are, your majesty,” Alfrid insisted to another growl, “The elf king says he want to see you.”

“And how is it that you know this?” Bard crossed his arms, “Hmmm?”

“He is at the gates,” Alfrid explained, “He and his army.”

“Am I the only one who can say to open the gate?” Bard replied dryly, “Go on and let him in. It’s the least we can do. Now go, before I think to use this spade for more than graves.”

“Shouldn’t you go?” You leaned on your shovel, “I don’t think Alfrid is suited to deal with the elves.”

“Yes, I should,” He relented dully, “I only hope they have not come to ask for what we do not have.”

“They fought the same battle as us,” You replied, “They are likely only looking for a place to rest. It is quite a ways to Mirkwood.”

“Mmm, surely you are right,” Bard fiddled with his torn sleeve, “And we owe them much and more.”

“Gods know, elves never forget their debts,” You grumbled as you clutched your spade tightly.

“Perhaps you should come with me,” He offered precariously, “They may have wounded who need tending.”

“But…” You looked around at the half-dug graves.

“But we have others digging,” He gestured to the dozen who had offered their services, “And no one who can do what you can. Besides, you may be more attuned to dealing with the king than I am.”

“How so?” You crooked your brow.

“Well, he is a rather stern being,” Bard explained with a frown, “You have a way of speaking to anyone.”

“I do?” You asked curiously.

“You do,” He assured you, “Even when you are stabbing a needle through their flesh, you somehow keep them calm.”

“Well, I should hope I do not need to stab this elf,” You quipped, though you were anxious about his request, “But I cannot promise I will be of any help. I think he would prefer to deal with you.”

“Though I would prefer he did not,” Bard returned with an almost indiscernible smile, “I am not king.”

“Maybe not,” You offered as you set down your shovel, “But you are all we have.”


	2. Chapter 2

Bard

Bard walked beside the healer through the dirty streets, surpassing the sullen corpses which still littered the ground. Many had already been transferred to the cemetery and yet there were a few who remained along their path. Bard was only grateful that there were enough living to deal with the deceased. He frowned deeper than before as he thought of the battle and the destruction wrought by Smaug; _even if they had the whole city of Dale to rebuild, how would they ever do so after such an ordeal?_

He looked over as he heard a sigh from [Y/N] and followed her gaze to the line of elven soldiers in their golden armor and the silver king who stood at their helm. He looked in more disarray than Bard had seen him, though his figure was still intimidatingly stoic. His pale hair was a bit mussed and there remained traces of the filth of battle upon his porcelain skin, but he surely looked better than Bard and the healer who traipsed towards him.

“King Bard,” Thranduil nodded his head subtly to him as he approached, “It is pleasant to see you still alive.”

“Is it?” Bard asked dryly, “And I am not king.”

“It seems you are the only who would say so,” The elf’s deep voice was never less than certain, “So, King Bard, how do your people fair?”

“As well as you would expect,” Bard crossed his arms, not daring to correct the elven king a second time, “Dead, wounded, barely alive. With nothing but the clothes on their backs.”

“That can be easily solved,” Thranduil gave his usual smug grin, “The battle is won and there is much to be done. It would be unfair to leave so many in distress.”

“But why?” Bard wondered aloud, “You’ve already done so much.”

“I would not make the same mistake twice,” Thranduil answered grimly, “An entire people went homeless years ago because of that beast, I would not have another on my conscience.”

“I am sure the dwarves have weighed heavily upon your heart,” [Y/N] commented pointedly from Bard’s side and he looked to her with shock, “Sitting their on your throne while they wandered in exile.”

“And who is this sharp-tongue woman you have brought with you?” Thranduil’s eyes rested upon the healer with an unsettling interest as if he had not noticed her before, “That has such sympathy for dwarves.”

“I merely have compassion,” She explained blithely, “Regardless of race. A fickle thing if you ask me.”

“And such a compassionate creature has a rather lot of blood upon her hands,” He looked to her hands which she could still not scrub the stains from.

“She is our healer,” Bard squared his shoulders unthinkingly, “That is the blood of all she has saved.”

“Compassionate indeed,” Thranduil grinned again as he swept back his hair, revealing a thin red line under his jaw, “Perhaps she could see to this little nuisance.”

“I have much work to do,” She answered quickly, “I trust you’ve your own healer among your men.”

“I do,” He accepted, seemingly unmoved by her vicious demeanour, “But my men will be helping you and your king clean up this long forsaken city.”

“You’ve waited this long,” She pursed her lips and Bard realized she was as scared as she was irritated with the elf, “It can wait a little longer, I’d say.”

“[Y/N],” Bard turned to her as he saw the flicker in Thranduil’s eyes, “Please, he’s helping us.”

“Let me see then,” She looked to the elven king as she stepped forward, Thranduil towered over her even more than Bard, “As I have said, I would not forsake any solely on the misfortune of their birth.”

“It is not too dire,” Thranduil’s eyes focused on the top of her head as she stood on her toes to examined his wound and Bard felt a stir of irritation, “Though I would suspect that it needs stitching.”

“You would suspect right,” She stood flat on her feet, “But I am afraid I haven’t any supplies on my person and that which remain to me are meagre.”

“You needn’t worry about that,” Thranduil’s eyes did not leave the healer as she stepped back, “I can have your necessities seen too. I would only ask your skill in return.”

“Right then,” She conceded reluctantly as she crossed her arms and quirked her lips, “It should not take too long.”

“This way,” Thranduil swept his arm behind him and looked over to Bard with a wry smirk, sending another pang of annoyance through him, “I should like some wine before you stick a needle in my neck.”

[Y/N] grumbled as she looked back at Bard and he wished he could think of something to say but there was nothing in his mind but anger. She turned and stepped past the silver king and Bard could see the tension in her shoulders as Thranduil watched her movement before returning his gaze to Bard once more.

“I shall speak with you further after,” He bowed his head, “It has been a rather harrowing ordeal.”

“Fine,” It was the only word Bard could choke out before the elf turned his lithe figure and followed [Y/N] past the line of soldiers.

He could not explain the boiling in his chest but he was suddenly very irritated with the elven king’s presence. Even as he told himself he should be thankful for the help he could not but feel another bite of hatred in his mind. _Why had Thranduil looked at [Y/N] so?_ He never would have stood for such sharp words from him. He could have simply had his own healer tend to the measly cut along his neck, _why did he insist upon [Y/N]?_

Perhaps she had offended the proud elf. Bard’s anger was suddenly replaced with anxiety as he pondered the thought. If she had, he had just allowed her to be led away by the most unforgiving person he had ever encountered. He cringed as he looked along the line of soldiers and fought against the urge to force his way through to the elven king’s newly erected tent. If he stormed in their and dragged away the healer, he would only make things worse for both of them, not to mention the rest of his people.

* * *

Reader

“In here,” Thranduil pushed through the flap of the silken tent, “My lady.”

“I am not a lady,” You grumbled as you followed him inside, “I am a healer.”

“Very well,” He smiled at you and you were nearly frightened as another elf entered behind you and set down a chest upon the ground before leaving silently, “Everything you need should be in there.”

“Oh, alright…” You eyed him suspiciously before crossing carefully to the large box, “Though I needn’t much.”

You opened the clasp with a click and lifted the heavy lid, sifting inside for a curved silver needle and a spool of stitching thread. You were envious of the kit and wished that you had the luxury of such fine supplies. You straightened up as you unwound a length of thread and looked to Thranduil who was already reclined upon his chair, his eyes fixed upon you. You wondered if he always stared so at his visitors and you pushed away the chill it set down your spine.

“Wine?” He offered as he motioned to the ewer upon the round table.

“Not for me,” You answered crossing to pour some of the dark alcohol into a glass and dipped the needle into it, “But for you.”

“Ah, I value cleanliness in a healer,” He mused as you threaded the curved metal, “Though your bedside manner could use some improvement.”

“Lift your chin,” You ordered, ignoring his comment and his pale eyes, “This may hurt.”

“I know pain well,” He assured nonchalantly, “It does not bother me so much as oth–ah!”

“Sorry,” You hid the grin which threatened as you pierced his pale flesh with the needle, “I did warn you.”

“So you did,” He clenched his jaw as you continued your work, taking extra time so that you could relish the little winces he gave.

“There you go,” You straightened and admired your handiwork before he lowered his head, “They should be taken out in a few days. Try not to touch or scratch it…unless you like infections.”

“I will keep that in mind,” His unnerving grin returned and you concealed the uneasiness it sent through you.

“Right then,” You dropped the needle back into the cup of wine, “I think that is all.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like some wine?” He offered and his silver eyes slowly left your face and trailed downward causing you to stiffen with realization.

“No, no,” You stepped back cautiously and his hand reached out to catch yours, keeping you from going further, “ I should be going. I have much work to do.”

“It can wait,” He ran his thumb across the back of your hand as his other found your hip, “You must be tired…stressed, even?”

“I am fine,” You would have pulled away but you were paralyzed on your feet, uncertain of what would happen if you were to do so, “Please…I don’t…I’ve got to go.”

“Ah, I should have know,” He released you at once, leaning back once more, “You and Bard.”

“Me and Bard?” You furrowed your brow in confusion.

“It is plain enough to see,” Thranduil poured himself a fresh glass of wine, “I was only hoping…Hmm,” His scoff curtailed his sentence, “I should not have thought to waste my time with a human.”

“But you did,” You scowled at the insult, “I should tear those stitches out.”

“You are amusing,” He rolled his eyes as he sipped, “But you had best leave me before my amusement turns to irritation.”

“Happily,” You sneered back at him, “Remember to wash that twice a day…or don’t. I am sure you can handle an infection.”

You turned on your heel, trying to fathom how your day had taken such an unexpected turn. As if things could not have been difficult enough, now you had to deal with the elven king and his pride. You pursed your lips as you stepped through the tent flap and into the sunlight, eager to return to the cemetery where you could forget about the awkward episode. You wondered if Bard would be there and what Thranduil had meant about you two. You shook your head at the notion and continued past the line of soldiers, vowing not to mention any of it to the bargeman.

* * *

Bard

Bard watched as [Y/N] stormed past the line of elven soldiers, her face creased with restrained anger and her steps heavy. She did not even see him as he stood waiting with arms crossed, though he wondered now if perhaps she had slew the elven king. That would be a treat indeed…until it became another battle. She whisked past him, her apron as bloody and dirt-stained as ever and her steely eyes set on the path ahead.

“[Y/N],” He called after her, catching her arm before she could completely ignore him, “Is everything alright? Thranduil?”

“All fixed up,” She wiped her hands roughly on her midsection, “Though he speaks an awful lot.”

“Oh, what did he say?” Bard asked nervously.

“Nothing worth repeating,” She said as her jaw tightened in anger once more, “Just a lot.”

“I’m sorry, [Y/N],” He began but stopped as her eyes darkened.

“Please, don’t apologize,” She waved her hand dismissively, “It is not your fault and besides, I can take care of myself well enough. I thank you for all you have done, but you needn’t take responsibility for every little thing.” She put her hands on her hips with exasperation, “And since you have no desire to be king, not every little problem is your duty to solve. Go. Take care of your family and yourself. Gods know you’ve earned it.”

“[Y/N],” Bard felt hurt by her words though he knew she meant no harm, “I–Thank you for all your help. Honestly…but what about Sigrid? She wants to be a healer like you.”

“I can teach her for a time,” She offered weakly, “And if I should stay, I can teach her all I know, but if the next leader is like the last, I will not linger. I have had enough of corrupt Masters and arrogant kings. There is enough blood upon my hands and death on my conscience.”

“Well, if you do leave,” Bard looked to his feet, withholding the emotion which nipped at his ears, “Make sure you say goodbye first. The children would appreciate it.”

“Certainly,” She agreed plainly, “Besides, I cannot leave until those stitches are ready to come out and we’ve still many a grave to dig.”

She turned and began down the cobbles and Bard made to follow though his path was impeded by one of the elven soldiers. The armored figured stepped in front of him with his blank stare and looked dully at the bargeman, blocking him from the healer.

“The king would see you now, bargeman,” The elven’s lithe voice made Bard bristle.

“Go on,” [Y/N] called from the other side of the guard, “I’ll see you back at the graveyard…if you have the time.”

“Right,” Bard grumbled back, “The graveyard.”

He let the guard lead him away, reluctantly turning back to the line of soldiers and bracing himself to deal with the elven king. He could not explain the new dread brewing within his stomach but he had little desire to converse with Thranduil. The elf had proved little more than an inconvenience who rarely did anything without expecting something in return, which Bard most certainly did not have to give.

Bard was directed to the tall silk tent and he held back an irritated sigh as he stopped outside and urged himself to continue on. He cleared his throat deeply and waited for the blithe reply which came from the other side of the canvas. He ducked under the flap, letting it fall behind him heavily as he straightened on the other side. As he entered, Thranduil was sitting atop his cushioned chair as if it were some grand throne, gently tracing the line of his stitched cut with his slender fingers.

“Ah, Bard,” He greeted lightly, “I know you have much work to do but it seems you are the one in charge here.”

“Not exactly,” Bard lowered his brow, “I am merely doing what I must.”

“Well, there is no other I can find suited to the role,” Thranduil was complimenting the bargeman and yet he could not but bristle at his every word, “That greasy little rat, Allin or whatever his slimy title is, he is surely not attuned for such work and the rest of your people are but frightened mice…except for that healer of yours.”

“She is brave,” Bard contended, almost proud of the small woman, “And skilled.”

“She would make as good a queen as you would a king,” The elf looked down his thin nose with a smile, “The two of you would have this city bustling before long.”

“She is not…I mean, we are not…She is merely the healer,” Bard held up his wounded arm defensively as he showed her work, “Nothing more.”

“Oh no?” Thranduil’s lips straightened and he seemed to think deeply, “And you would not think of her as otherwise? You’re children could no doubt use a mother.”

“My children are fine with me,” Bard assured him curtly, “And she would never…I could not–”

“So, she is not yours?” Thranduil interjected bluntly, “I would think then she was only being coy. A lady would not want to relent so easily.”

“What do you–?” Bard’s voice caught as he choked on his sudden anger, “Did you…Did you do something to her?”

“I merely asked her to share the wine,” Thranduil lifted his glass and emptied it swirftly, “And the tent.”

“You–” Bard was speechless for a moment against his ire, “She–You’ve no right!”

“She is not yours and as far as I can tell, she belongs to no man,” Thranduil replied with a grin, “I would be a fool if I did not try. And, as you seem to lack the gull to claim her as your own, I may just try again.”

“And I can assure you, she would reject you just as swiftly,” Bard promised though he was not so certain.

“She may,” Thranduil shrugged, “But you needn’t worry so much about what she does. You have told me that you are not her king, nor is she your woman.”

“She is her own woman,” Bard squared his shoulders and his hands tightened into fists, “And she would never fall for your tricks. She is far too smart for that.”

“Perhaps,” The elf allow lackadaisically, “And if she does not, it will not keep her from another,” He leaned forward as he held Bard’s eyes with his own, “May I give you some advice?”

“Advice?” Bard hissed as he glared back, “What would that be?”

“Be the king you are meant to be,” He began as he set down his empty glass, “For your people, they need you. And her. She may be disinterested in this king but if you should find the rest of your courage, she may just consider another.”

“What?” Bard felt as if he had been punched by the elf.

“It is not an easy duty, Bard. I know it well,” Thranduil’s face hardened, “To be king. But it is easier with someone at your side and I can promise that the healer is well-suited to it. For you and the kingdom. You can rebuild this city…No one else. And you cannot do it alone.”

Bard blinked in disbelief, his anger fading as the realization set in and he felt a weight upon his chest as he struggled to breath. He could not have spoken if he had tried and his lack of sleep finally caught up to him as he wavered on his feet. He stared back at the elven king who looked on dully and the bargeman struggled to sift through all that had been said and his own hectic thoughts.

“Whether you want it or not, these people have already crowned you their king,” Thranduil crossed his long legs beneath his silver robe, “And you are not the type to walk away from so many in need. If you were, there would still be a dragon raizing the land.”


	3. Chapter 3

Bard

“What are you doing, Da?” Sigrid’s voice nearly caused Bard to drop the potato he was peeling intently, “I’ve never seen you peel potatoes before. I don’t even know that I’ve seen you cook.”

“Quiet,” Bard frowned as he cut a chunk instead of a strip, “I am…trying.”

“Here,” She held out her hands to him kindly, “I can do that. What are trying to make?”

“Well, I don’t know exactly,” He answered embarrassed, “Hopefully, something edible.”

“Where did you get the potatoes?” She asked as she took the knife and expertly began to pare the vegetables, “I’ve been scrounging all day. We had some dusty old oats for breakfast.”

“Yes, well,” Bard kicked his toe against the stone, “I was meaning to feed you lot but I came back to an empty house.”

“Tilda and Bain were restless,” Sigrid explained, “They are out front right now but we went for a walk….away from the mess.”

“Good girl,” Bard commended his daughter, “And I got more than potatoes. The elves brought enough for the whole city.”

“Oh?” She smiled brightly and he presented the box of goods he had acquired, “But I’m still curious? Why are you cooking?”

“I, uh…” Bard could not help his bashful smile as he looked to his feet; he had not felt the flutter in a long time and it was throwing him for a loop.

“It’s [Y/N], isn’t it?” Sigrid nearly shouted, “I knew it, Da!”

“I…How?” He looked up at his daughter who was clutching her hands across her chest.

“Oh, Da!! I just did,” She squealed, “She’s so pretty and nice and–and smart,” She began to babble as she did when she was giddy, “And the way you looked at her when she was sewing up your arm. Oh, Da! I hope she likes you back.”

Sigrid hugged her father tightly, nearly catching him off-balance and he returned her embrace with a chuckle. He squeezed her as she giggled into his shoulder as another wave of doubt went through him and he shared her childish excitement. He hoped that [Y/N] liked him back as much as his daughter did, and if she did not, well, at least he would know for sure.

* * *

Reader

You felt filthy despite scrubbing yourself for so long; your hands were still a slight shade of red and your scalp felt caked with dirt. Yet, you had done all you could for your appearance, though all you had desired was to feel human for the first time in days. Sigrid had stopped by as you had helped dig the last grave, her father having excused himself for some unknown chore. You figured it must have been important to tear him away from his duty; he was never one to shirk.

The girl had asked you to come over for supper as her blue eyes sparkled in the setting sunlight and her golden hair curled with the sweat of her days toil. You accepted easily as you had not eaten the day through and you did not relish the task of scrounging after so much work. She had also suggested, though not so subtly, that you clean up. You accepted the advice willingly, feeling nearly as bad as you looked.

The basin of well water in front of you was grimy with the dirt which had shed from your body and you looked at your reflection in the brown ripples. You looked better than you would have expected, though the bags under your eyes had darkened and you were sure you had aged years in only days. You pulled on your tunic which you had beat the dust out of and ignored the bloodied apron draped across the broke chair. The old house you had claimed as your own was small and decrepit but you did not intend on staying long anyhow. You stood and brushed out your hair one last time with your fingers and pulled open the splintered door, forcing it shut behind you as you stepped down the stone stairs.

You walked along the cobbles, trying not to glare at the elven soldiers in their golden armour as they traversed the streets. They had been more than helpful in your work and yet their king had left a sour taste in your mouth. You turned the corner with a hidden grimace and nearly found yourself toppled by the thin figure who crashed into you.

Bain apologized profusely as he laughed and held onto your arm, keeping you from falling despite his skinny frame. Tilda was hot on his heels and stopped just beside him, calling your name as she greeted you with her bright smile.

“I’m sorry, [Y/N],” Bain said with a guilty cringe, “I didn’t–”

“No, no,” You assured him, raising your hands in surrender, “You are children. Play. Please.”

“Oh?” Bain looked to his younger sister unsure, “So, we’re not in trouble?”

“Of course not,” You assured him with your own smile, “If I were as young as you, I’d be running around here like a puppy on Sunday.”

“[Y/N]!” Sigrid greeted as she hopped down the stone steps of the house, “You’re here!”

“So I am,” You wondered how she could be so happy considering all that had transpired, though you were happy the children could still enjoy their youth as it was, “I think I smell something delicious.”

“Da is cooking dinner,” She explained as she approached you, “It should be done soon.”

“Da is cooking?” Bain shared a confused look with Tilda, “I didn’t know he could do that.”

“He slayed a dragon,” Sigrid reproached her brother with a poke, “So I think he can handle a stove.”

“I don’t care what I eat,” You offered cheerily, it was nice to forget about everything if only for an hour or two, “I am starving.”

“Right, well, me and the other two will be eating out here,” She began as she smiled at you, “And you and Da will be eating inside.”

“Oh?” You crooked your brow, “Why?”

“The moon will be bright tonight,” She waved to the waxing orb already visible in the dimming sky, “And Bain and Sigrid can play for a time to come.”

“I love eating outside,” Tilda commented naively, “It’s too dusty inside.”

“I’m working on it, Tilda,” Sigrid frowned begrudgingly, “But anyway…” She looked over her shoulder to the door of their house, “I’ll go see how it is coming along…Could you keep an eye on these two?”

“Sure,” You shrugged, “I’ve nothing better to do.”

You watched Sigrid as she kicked up her skirts, nearly running inside and you wondered if Bard were truly able to handle a stove. It would be all too comical if he slew the dragon only to burn down Dale with his cooking. Tilda and Bain went about their game as they tossed stones to each other and ran around in a game of tag. You smiled at the scene and you felt close to tears as you did so. A day ago, you would never have thought to see such a picture again.

“Alright,” Sigrid said breathlessly as she tramped down the steps with three dishes balanced in her arms, “Every thing is ready. Yours is inside, [Y/N].”

“Oh, thank you, Sigrid,” You gave a small smile as you passed her, pausing to watch her hand out her wares to her siblings, “I’ll see you after dinner?”

“Of course,” Sigrid returned your smile, though there was something unsaid in her eyes, “And you can teach me more about healing.”

“Certainly,” You agreed as you turned to the steps, “Whatever you want to know.”

You climbed the stone stairs one at a time, the aroma of the awaiting meal drawing you forward. You pushed through the crooked door and shuffled inside into the warm air. The door to the dining room hung open and you neared it cautiously, hoping that you were choosing the right room. Inside, you found Bard leaning over the table as he straightened one of the dishes among the spread.

He looked up at you with a warm smile as he stood straight and you could not but return the cheery gesture. Tall candles burned amid the plates laid out with food and a bottle of wine stood centre of the setting. You were stunned by the scene and nearly gasped as you took it all in. To many, it was not much and obviously the result of desperate scrounging, but in the moment, it was extraordinary. You stopped before the table as you stared at it, unable to think past your surprise.

“[Y/N],” Bard’s voice was soft yet firm, “You can sit.”

He pulled out the chair before you and obeyed him, moving through a daze which had overtaken you among the spiced air.

“What–?” You looked across the table as he rounded it and took his own seat, “This looks splendid.”

“Well, I figured you would be hungry,” He said as he poured two glasses of wine, “After you did so much work and…You earned it.”

“So did you,” You returned as he held out one of the glasses, “More than any. You did all this yourself?”

“Hmmp, no,” He looked away guiltily, “Sigrid helped. A lot.”

“She’s a smart girl,” You offered with a proud smile, though he should be more so, “Though she likely got that from her father.”

“I should agree with you on that, but I cannot take much credit for that,” He took a sip of the wine carefully, “But I also brought you here to tell you something.”

“Oh?” You set down your glass, your cheer beginning to fade, “Something…serious?”

“Well, yes and no,” He gave an anxious smile, “But it should be good news, I think….I hope.”

“Alright…” You stilled the nerves running ragged within you, “Then, what is it? I would like to know before I eat. I would not want an upset stomach.”

“I have decided that…Well, at the behest of many others…” He seemed to struggle to articulate his thoughts, “I cannot let this city falter and you were right when you said they needed a leader. If the people will indeed have me, I will be their king.”

“King?” You repeated in surprise, he had seemed so determined to run away from the title before, “Truly?”

“Yes,” He clutched his cup tightly in his hand, “I was…foolish before to think I could just ignore everything. That I could let the responsibility fall on another’s shoulder when there is no other…No other who would make sure that the people got what they needed.”

“I am so happy for you, Bard,” You could not help the smile which came to you, “You are going to be a brilliant king. And I am so glad that you are giving this city a chance for survival…I could not–” Your smile was suddenly gone and you were choking back sobs, “I can’t watch any more people die.”

You covered your face, embarrassed by the rush of emotion that had overtaken you and sniffed it all back. You lowered your hands slowly, looking over at Bard with shame as you clasped your hands together in front of you.

“I’m sorry,” You said meekly, “Truly, I am happy for you…It has been a rough time as of late.”

“I know,” He replied, his tone gentle, “It is alright. You can cry…or not. Whatever you like. We are all coping.”

“Perhaps though, I am being selfish,” You wiped away the last of the moisture on your cheeks, “Hoping that you would become king so that I did not need to run away. So that I did not need to see another city fall into corruption.”

“No, I was selfish for being so blind to what needs to be done,” Bard returned, “I did not kill that dragon for myself, I did it to save them. All of them.”

“I know you did,” You nodded, “That’s why I said…Why I know you’re the best king Dale could have.”

“Thank you, [Y/N],” He smiled kindly and reached across the table, his rough hand open in offering, “But there is something I wanted to ask of you?”

“Well, I suppose I owe you,” You sniffled again, though you were not crying, “What is it?”

“I would appreciate your help,” He began nervously, “To rebuild.”

“Of course,” You accepted quickly.

“But not only that,” He continued, his hand still extended, “I want you to give me a chance…To give us a chance.”

“For what?’ You raised your brow curiously.

“To be together,” His voice was quiet, “[Y/N], I cannot deny how I feel and…I know we have not known each other long but I have watched you. Every day.”

“What?” You looked to him searchingly.

“When I would return to the docks, you would be there,” He explained with a guilty smile, “Walking along the edge with your bag on your shoulder. Did you never notice me?”

“No, of course I did,” You recalled what seemed all too long ago, all those evenings you had thought yourself unseen as you watched the ships, “I saw you. Ever day.”

“And you never thought to say hello?” He mused.

“Well,” You set your hand in his, his large fingers closing around yours warmly, “Neither did you.”

“Hello,” He said as the creases on his face deepened with his rare smile.

“Hello,” You squeezed his hand as you smiled back; _it was such a simple word, why had you not said it earlier?_


End file.
